five
by Purrugly
Summary: From five to one, start to finish, Kurt has always loved Blaine.  Mild slash, some language.


**A/N **This is sort of a test to see if I can actually pull off Klaine. It's one of my favourite pairings ever, so I'd appreciate feedback as to what you thought of it! This fic goes backwards from five - in Roman numerals - to one. I'm so smart.

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**v. noticing**

Kurt Hummel noticed Blaine Anderson _all the time. _He noticed small things. Little quirks. Like how Blaine tapped his feet under the table when he was doing his homework. He'd always drum his shiny Dalton-regulation shoes to an invisible song current - as if the beat of the music ran up and down his veins like quicksilver, lighting nerves ablaze and setting his toes all a-tapping.

Blaine wrinkled his nose when he couldn't quite grasp something – which, mind you, was a rare occurrence in itself. Blaine knew everything. He brushed his teeth counter-clockwise, and laughed a little too loudly at impromptu Harry Potter references. He loved Marilyn Monroe, but harboured a secret love affair for Sia's upbeat tunes. Doing his algebra equations, he swore, made him sneeze more than usual.

Blaine always wore trousers - but not only that, sometimes he'd wear the Dalton _uniform _trousers. Sure, Blaine's trousers were sleek and well-cut. They were a soft grey and accentuated his lean figure. They made him look hot. But that was beside the point! They were _part of his everyday uniform _and Blaine _voluntarily wore them outside of school. _

If Kurt wasn't in love with him, he wouldn't notice Blaine as much as he did.

**iv. touching**

The first time they touched, Kurt had felt a jolt. It was barely perceptible; a ripple beneath the cool, calm exterior of the water. But he had felt it. And he had willed with all his might that Blaine had felt it too. From then on, they touched frequently. Blaine held Kurt's hand. They hugged. When Blaine whispered in Kurt's ear, the self-proclaimed diva had to remind himself not to swoon.

That, however, was exceptionally difficult. Especially when wisps of Blaine's curly-but-not-quite hair tickled Kurt's cheek, and his words skated across Kurt's skin like warm-cold ice. Kurt found himself holding on longer when the cuddled during a movie. Or when Blaine didn't make it to his own room in time, and Kurt just let it be. Curled around each other. Bolts of heat.

If Kurt wasn't in love with him, he wouldn't touch Blaine as much as he did.

**iii. longing**

It was an ache. It was a constant stream of _there's Blaine he looks so beautiful will he hold my hand again today _and it drove Kurt _to distraction_. His heart panged when he looked at Blaine. Butterflies erupted. Fingertips tingled. He felt hot and cold all at once. But most of all, it was the way he _wanted _Blaine.

He wanted Blaine in every way. He wanted Blaine to know everything about him. He wanted to share secrets, tell him stories; let him in. Blaine was the only person Kurt wanted. In a way, he felt as if Blaine were the only person who would understand him. He'd see past his yearning for the spotlight; his borderline attention-seeking. He'd see that Kurt was just confused and lonely and _so fucking afraid. _Of himself, of things he didn't understand, of the world.

He wanted Blaine to touch him. He wanted hazy gropes and desperate kisses. He wanted Blaine's sultry brown-green gaze. He wanted Blaine to touch every part of his body, to decorate his skin with lashes of fire (_lust_) and beads of sweat (_more._) Kurt longed for Blaine to just _ravish me for fuck's sake _because how could he be plainer?

If Kurt wasn't in love with him, he wouldn't yearn for Blaine as much he did.

**ii. protecting**

Kurt Hummel was not a hero. He couldn't count how many times he'd come home from McKinley, tears pricking the surface, and already grasping blindly for his phone. He couldn't count how many times he'd gasped out his fears over his caramel non-fat latte, Blaine's warm, reassuring hand tucked into his. He couldn't count how many times Blaine had been there for him (c_ourage._)

But Blaine needed protecting as well. Kurt remembers the first time he became Blaine's hero. How they'd huddled together, and Kurt had just listened. It had been this relentless outpour of troubles that Blaine had bottled up for years. Of everything; of nothing. About his family, about school. About himself. And Kurt had sat there, his side pressed flush against Blaine's – their _shoulders arms ribs thighs calves_ melting into each other. Blaine had been so warm.

Kurt had cried with Blaine. Dammit, he hadn't wanted to. Because heroes don't cry. But the two young men had fallen into one another, and Kurt hadn't been as strong as he thought he could.

But if Kurt wasn't in love with Blaine, he'd still protect him.

**i. loving**

It was snowing. Dalton Academy was beautiful that night. It was dusted, icing-sugar-light, with tiny flakes of snow. The sky had been open and endless; the moon barely visible behind heavy grey clouds. The common room was warm and cosy. The fire had long ago been reduced to hunks of amber coals, and the shadows flickered and played upon the red wallpaper. Murmuring sleepy goodnights, the remainder of the Warblers had stumbled off to bed, but Kurt and Blaine had remained. They were swapping opinions on the latest Vogue (_oh, how gay_) and were far too comfortable to move.

Although Kurt yearned for Blaine's touch, they had sat at other ends of the couch, toes tickling and knees bumping. The firelight cast a strange, ethereal glow over Blaine's tanned skin, and his eyes had been like pools of velvet. Mouth hitched into his trademark half-smile. Cheeks pink from the fire and the company.

Kurt had never wanted anything so much in that instant. He hadn't wanted to (_they were best friends!_) and he'd wanted to (_so much_) at the same time. Conversation ceased. Blaine was smiling at Kurt. Just smiling. And Kurt knew he couldn't, wouldn't rather do anything other than _this. _

Their lips had brushed, so quickly. It was over before it began. But then Blaine's hand had met the back of Kurt's neck, and they were kissing once more. Lips melding together; fusing with heat and longing. Hazy gazes met and danced away, and Blaine's lips were on Kurt's jaw and _oh god I can't breathe. _Fingers danced across skin, skimming under clothes and sending spikes of electricity to shiver along their bodies.

Pulling away from each other, too soon, Blaine's fingertips brushed Kurt's cheek. Brown-green eyes searched blue. Chests moved with a silent swiftness. Lips painted red.

"I love you." Those words were so earnest, so heart-wrenchingly, bone-achingly _honest _that Kurt felt a shudder of – of what? Sadness, excitement, desire, victory. And they had kissed and loved until the fire sifted through herself to meet the cold stone of the hearth.

Kurt Hummel loves Blaine Anderson. And Blaine Anderson is _so desperately _in_ love_ with Kurt Hummel.


End file.
